Fate's Pull
by chickpeamartini
Summary: On the day Ana goes to sit her exams, fate has her very nearly running over Christian Grey when driving towards college, where they meet for the first time as she tries to keep him conscious while waiting for the ambulance to arrive. When they meet again, how will things change after Christian insists Ana saved his life, developing a sort of preoccupation with her?
1. Chapter 1

**I have never written a 50 Shades FF before, but I get the urge to write, so here is my attempt at something. :) Please do be gentle.**

* * *

 **Fate's Pull**

APOV:

Today is the day I am due to sit for my exams.

Even the weather seems to feel sorry for me, because the instance I'm ready to go and I step out the front door, its raining furiously. My roommate Kate wishes me luck again for the fiftieth time, and then I'm off, running down the footpath towards my car.

Even though I've gotten an early start by leaving as soon as I could, I can't see myself reaching the college grounds on time in order to sit my tests. Had it not been for the slow moving traffic due to the dangerous weather and the slippery asphalt experienced today of all days, I'm sure I might make it in time enough.

It has really started to pour, thick bullets of rain thrumming down against the windshield a mile a minute. Headlights pan blindingly in my vision from the cars rushing to and fro on the opposite side of the highway.

"Come on, come on. Please get me there on time for my examinations today," I beckon to Wanda, my VW Beetle, patting the dashboard lovingly with my fingers. "I need this so badly." So it was another one of my quirks, having one-sided conversations with my car. But honestly, it makes the journey that bit enjoyable.

Even wrapped up in layers of clothes, I'm shivering. I lean down to switch on the heated air-conditioning and, so fast, I take my eyes off the road for one fleeting second and-

THUMP!

My heart feels its in my throat with the dreadful clamoring thud that sounds off at the front of my car. Oh, god. Please, no. This cannot be happening on one of my most important days!

I inch my foot down on the brakes very slowly, then turn on my hazard lights to signal to those at the back of me that I've stopped. I've hit something, and yet its impossible to see through the heavy sheets of rain hammering down on the windshield.

I pray internally that its nothing of too substantial importance. It's just a wild rabbit hopefully. Some small animal. A bird flew out and misjudged how close it was to the road, even?

But as I turn off the key in the ignition and manage to find my umbrella from where I have it stashed on my passengers seat in case of weather emergencies, it all comes crashing down onto me with haunting awareness.

Hyperventilating, I pull open the door and slide out of the seat, bringing the umbrella with me. I unlatch it and hold it over my head protectively to cover me from the uncontrollable rain, my knees trembling.

My breaths come out in shallow, foggy streams from my mouth as I inch closer and closer to the front of my car. I'm ultimately petrified of what I will find, dreading the worst. I peer down over the corner of my car and that's when I spot it.

A shoe comes into view, scuffled and well worn. Someone's running shoe. Nike brand. Closer I inch, that shoe becomes connected to a leg in grey track pants.

"Oh god, no." A wretched moan tears through my mouth helplessly as at long last, I close the distance between myself and the wounded person I've somehow managed to run over.

How much bad luck can I possibly have?

How fatally I've injured the person, its impossible to tell. But, as I finally reach them, kneeling down, I see its a male.

I've hit a man about in his mid to late twenties in appearance.

He's trembling from the rain, hunched over and shivering, long arms wrapped around his chest as he rests the side of his head against the concrete. My eyes search and search for any sign of just how extensive his injuries are- yet I find no visible bleeding.

There's a scrape along his cheek, a small graze fresh with blood. As far as I know, that is the worst of it, and relief fills me.

Still, the uncertainty of not completely knowing whether I have killed him or not, its terrifying.

It kills me, not knowing whether hitting him with my car will be the death of him or not. I mean, where did he come from? Did he suddenly appear out of thin air on the road? I certainly hadn't seen him.

Kneeling down beside him, I position the umbrella over him to shield him from the rain, inspecting him closely. I think I can see his chest moving as he inhales and exhales, thank god. He's still alive, at the very least.

He wears a grey zip-up jacket and matching grey track pants, his hair damp and a coppery color and his eyes... His eyes suddenly pop open, staring straight into mine, a light gray and his line of sight constant and steady. At least he seems completely lucid and aware of his surroundings.

Without warning, he lets out a guttural groan.

It takes a second for me to find my voice.

"Sir, are you all right? I am so sorry. Are you in bad pain anywhere?" These are stupid questions because, obviously, he is in a lot of pain. I just hit him with my car. Only Iron Man wouldn't feel any sort of pain due to that. It just calms me down and helps me to remain level-headed, asking.

His mouth falls open and I can tell he is about to speak, yet... nothing. Nothing comes out.

"Can you talk?" I try to swallow down the panic I'm feeling. "Please say something. Should I call for a medic? I just have my phone in my car, if I could just go... get it?"

The eyes are overly fixated on the way my lips move when I talk. He seems to take them in eagerly.

"Please, say something! Anything will do at this point, just let me know your okay?"

He extends a hand out to me, his fingers long and trembling. When I look at it, I see his hand is covered in little cuts. I can't figure out what he wants.

"Uh, is there something you need?" I stammer, unsure. "Please, let me know what I could do to help you?"

There is something there- something wild and urgent- in his expression, in his wide frantic eyes, that I cannot quite pick up on. It's maddening.

"Please," he mumbles incoherently.

I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs in exultation that he is alive, that finally he chooses to speak and that somehow, he has managed to make it through. His hand moves, slipping over my arm, and it tightens. He's clinging to me.

Another desperate sound breaks through his mouth, "Please, don't leave. Just... stay."

I'm struck by how frightened he seems. Did he honestly believe I was going to get in my car and do a runner, just leaving him there without any help while he is injured after possibly hitting him with my car?

My heart constricts painfully as he peers up at me fearfully. It's obvious he does expect me to leave. Why would I, though? What kind of person would do a hit and run?

His hand moves up towards my face, clutching at a strand of my hair that has come uncurled from my ponytail. It's more than just a little disarming when he rolls over to get closer to me, the way he rubs his fingers over my hair gently... the way he brings it to his nose, inhales in deeply then out, his breathing subdued. My cheeks feel they're flaming after seeing the way he seems to calm momentarily over the fragrance of my hair.

"Wait here," I command him gently. "I just need to get to my car to get my phone out." In protest, he groans loudly, catching me by the shoulder with his hand. He squeezes down tight, too tight, and I wince. "Ssh, I'll be right back, I promise. I just need to call the-"

My resolve crumbles when he lays his head in my lap, staring directly up at me with his gray eyes, blinking slowly. Pity surges through me. It's obvious he hasn't shaved in quite some time; A day or two's worth of stubble on his chin and upper lip.

Bad taste as it may seem, I can't help registering how ruggedly attractive he is. As I lift my hand tentatively, running my fingers through his scalp, his eyes close tight, a serene look coming across his face. I really do need to call someone though.

I hear voices from behind me, car doors opening. Two people appear- the drivers behind me- talking on their phones. Hopefully, they have done the calling for me, seeing as its next to impossible to get away from him. He won't seem to let me go anywhere, like he feels he is clinging onto his last thread of humanity.

"You'll be okay," I assure the man gently, stroking his hair. "Someone's calling emergency services now. They shouldn't be too long."

His eyes flicker open and he blinks up at me again from where he rests, in my lap. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice thick and raspy, like he hasn't used it in days.

I find it ridiculous that he feels the need to thank me. I'm just doing what any normal person would in this situation, after all. Aren't I?

"It's okay," I whisper. "But thanking me is really wasting your breath. You don't need to thank me at all. I'm only doing what I should be doing."

There is no escaping the fact that I am definitely going to miss my examinations. But really, it isn't like I can do a runner on him, is it? His life and keeping him alive and coherent is far more important than that right now.

"Where did you come from?" I ask, shaking my head. "It was like you came out of nowhere?"

"I was... jogging."

"In this weather?" How preposterous.

"Well, yes. I... I like to run but I slipped." The irony of him still jogging in this crazy weather, it makes a weak smile tug up the corner of my lips. "Thank you again." It's just below a whisper.

"Stop thanking me. It's ridiculous." Annoyed by him thanking me, I press the tips of my fingers against his moist lips, smiling slightly. His lips part a fraction beneath my fingers, his breaths warm and ragged.

"What... what is your name?" he mumbles underneath my fingertips weakly.

"Ana. Ana Steele. What's yours?"

"Grey. Christian Grey." Grasping my hand in his weakly, he brings it to his mouth, kissing around my knuckles, disconcerting me. It seems to me a gesture out of great gratitude, and it warms me from the frigid air around us. "I would say its a pleasure to meet you, but... under these circumstances, it truly isn't."

I catch myself laughing sadly. "Oh, I couldn't agree more. But nevertheless, its great to meet you, Christian."

"You look like an angel," he murmurs, and it makes me feel overwhelmed. His voice is so forlorn, so gentle and tender. It's heartbreaking. My heart feels even more heavy with despair when I realize I've failed to notice he must have hurt his head as well; Dark red blood starts dribbling down his forehead.

"That explains you thinking I'm an angel then," I whisper, trying to make light of the situation.

"Hmm?"

"You must have hit your head," I point out, cringing. "Your bleeding and I _am so sorry_ that this is practically my fault. But no, I'm most definitely not an angel." Even though its freezing, he still manages to warm me up and get some heat to my face. "I'm just a normal... woman trying to find her way in the world. Anyone else in my position right here would be doing the exact same thing."

"Well, I don't know..." His eyes become glazed, disorientated. "Right now, you appear to be an angel to me, Ana Steele. I can see the wings on your back vividly. I-" His gaze drifts to the dark and murky sky above us, and I don't get to hear what he was about to say next, because just as he zonks out, the red and blue lights flashing around us signal the ambulances arrival.

HOPE THIS WAS OKAY FOR A FIRST TIME AT WRITING?


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for your encouragement and kind words. I never expected that so whoa! I was freaking out a lot as I've never written anything like this, so thank you! Hope you like this one just as much as the first. Again, please be kind with me if possible :D**

* * *

 **Fate's Pull**

APOV:

Once the police start getting out of their vehicles, a female officer pulls me over to the side in order for me to recount my story of what has happened. I see the paramedics load Christian Grey up into their van, but as far as I can tell from the distance away that I am, he is still unconscious.

I try to keep my story as closest to the truth as possible; That he literally came out of nowhere, that he told me he was jogging and he slipped. I am 99% certain I didn't hit him. He must just have slipped on the slick road while jogging, crashing into the front of my car.

In all my 21 years of life, I have never so much as been in a car accident before. I have never been issued a parking or speeding ticket, and I like to consider myself a good citizen. I would never intentionally do anything reckless to get myself into some sort of trouble, because it shows on your record and, no doubt, would be a bad mark for any possible employers in the job I want to do once I finish college.

I feel ill with nerves, though. Are nerves a key sign of guiltiness?

After taking down my report, the female officer wanders towards where the van is. She disappears in it for about a mind-torturing ten minutes or so, then she finally reappears, climbing down out of it and coming towards me. I have no idea whether I am going to be arrested or changed.

Terrible as it is of me to think, I hope I won't get charged or have to pay too much of his medical expenses. Apart from doing my classes at college, I work part-time at a hardware store where the income isn't very high up there. Considering how I have to fork out rent money fortnightly in order to pay my half with my roommate Kate, I really cannot afford the added expense of paying his medical bills and whatever else I would need to.

It's a terrible and inconsiderate way to think about it, I know. But my financial situation at the moment isn't exactly the greatest.

The female officer tells me that his condition is now stabilized and that they will have to take him down to the hospital to check him out for any severe concussion or head trauma. Internal bleeding. He's awake again, and his incident report matches mine, give or take a few extra details. I feel my belly swell with relief when she informs me that he has no intentions to press charges and that he is happy to pay for his own medical expenses, as well as paying for any damage he has caused to my car.

It's so kind of him. It takes the weight off my shoulders almost instantly, hearing her tell me that. I wouldn't have been able to afford it otherwise. Plus, I am already in enough of a predicament as it is; I should be at my assigned desk, in the examination room, doing my test in order to graduate and get my certificate. It's incredibly hard not to panic.

She also gives me a list of registered counselors available, in case I feel I need someone to talk to to get over the shock. I think I'll be fine dealing with it all on my own, though, as scary and unexpected as the whole thing was.

The female officer uncurls a piece of paper in her hands. "Also, he wanted to give you his contact details in case you feel the need to keep in touch." She hands the thin shred of paper to me, and I take it, smoothing out the wrinkles with my fingers. Surely enough, in small, neat handwriting in a black ballpoint pen, is his name and phone number.

 _Christian Grey._

I can hardly contain my surprise. _Why on earth would I possibly feel the need to contact him?_

Still, its awfully kind of him.

Once I'm free to go and the officer has taken down all my private details in case they need to contact me again, I find my phone where I've sat it in the console. I contact my teachers, explaining why I haven't showed up for my finals test.

To my relief and due to the extraordinary and unique situation I've found myself in, they allow me to resit my examinations next week.

When I get back home, rushing inside to the warmth of the heater, I find Kate lounging around on the couch.

"Ana, what's happened?" she asks me in concern, probably seeing something troubling there in my expression. "You look pale as a sheet? I thought you were meant to be sitting your exams?"

I start to cry, unable to help it. This morning, what had happened... it was so overwhelming.

"Ana, what the hell?" Her voice breaking, she comes closer, hugging me in a tight embrace. "Shit, did something happen?" She sounds petrified for me, because I don't think I have really ever cried in front of her before. "Why are you so upset? Your shaking?"

"I had to reschedule to sit my finals," I whisper to her, resting my chin against her thin shoulder. "There was an accident. I was driving and then literally out of nowhere, this man slipped and hit his head on my car."

" _Jogging_?" She doesn't understand. She pulls back from me, shaking her head. "In _this_ weather? What kind of crazy person jogs in the rain?"

"He did. I had to hold his head in my lap and keep him conscious until the police and paramedics came. He was bleeding from the forehead and there was... _blood_ everywhere."

"Shit, how horrible for you. Is he still alive?"

"Yeah, as far as I know, he is. They said he was in a stable condition anyway."

"And what about charges being laid?"

"Oh, no. The female officer there said that he didn't want to press any charges, that he played a part in the blame, too."

Kate's face softens in relief and she lets out a big exhale of breath. "God, Ana. I'm _so_ sorry. Of all the things that could happen to you on one of the most important days of your life..." She shakes her head again in shock.

"Tell me about it," I murmur.

"So how are you doing?" she asks me in worry. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, I think. Just a little shaken. They offered me a few counselors to call to talk to. I think I'll be fine, though. I'm just _so glad_ that he didn't die!"

When I help Kate with making a vegetarian stir-fry for dinner, I find myself playing with my food on my plate, pushing it around with my fork and sawing it into little pieces with my knife. My appetite hasn't come to me, and its next to impossible to force myself into eating anything down. It's all too hard to swallow.

"You okay?" Kate asks me softly.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You still worried over what happened with the jogger this morning?"

"Yeah, I am." There's no use in pretending. "I feel so bad."

"Maybe you should consider talking to someone then?" she suggests gently. "I mean, it could help, just for reassurances sake?"

"I think I might just actually try to get some sleep," I decide, standing up. "I'll put my dinner in the fridge and eat it later once I feel better."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." I put my plate in the fridge, then hug Kate goodnight.

I change into my PJ's and crawl into bed, closing my eyes. I don't know how long I lay there for, in the dark. But its obvious sleep doesn't want to come to me either. I just seem to keep replaying what happened over this morning, but only where its ten million times worse.

 _Driving along the road. Rain ricocheting down around the windshield. Him appearing in front of the road. Slamming on my brakes. The glass of the windshield cracking and caving in, streaks of dark red blood staining everywhere as I collide into him. Getting out of my car, hysterically screaming. Him, lying on the road, groaning helplessly. His head split open with brain matter and intestines and blood and torn flesh everywhere..._ Like a real nightmare, a true horror story.

I feel too... strung out, and wide-awake with worry. With a frustrated sigh, I turn on my side, switching on my lamp. It's only eight thirty in the evening, way _too early_ even for me.

I decide to do something I haven't done in a while, something I know will inevitably make me feel better. I find my sketch pad and my charcoal pencils, opening up a fresh page to start a new drawing. Ever since I could remember, I have always enjoyed drawing. When I was a kid living with my mother, when I found myself unable to sleep or was wading knee-deep in my own thoughts and fears, I'd draw to distract myself. A lot of people have actually dared to say I am good at it; Kate and my art teachers especially, but I figure they are just being kind.

I arrange my pencils next to me on the bed in different shades, then select the darkest to start with.

I have no idea what I want to draw, but it seems to come easily to me. I start roughly sketching the outline of a human head. Then it starts to take on a new life of its own. I am not thinking much into it, really. My hand is just doing its own thing, drawing what it wants to draw.

Once I've got the main form and outline drawn, I start to lay in softer tones and shadows. The facial features and the piercing gray-eyes; the well defined cheekbones and smile lines, the small amount of stubble, until I'm finished. The hair takes the longest to get right. Once I'm done, I stare at the picture.

Surely enough, I've drawn _him_.

The man I had the car run in with, where I held his head in my lap, stroking his hair while trying to keep him conscious.

Christian Grey.

 _Maybe my brain is trying to tell me something? Maybe I should consider calling him and checking in?_

Biting my lip in indecision, I choose not to. It's too late and he is probably still recovering, no doubt. He probably expects me to call though, seeing as he gave me his contact details. And I probably should call, to be considerate. But is he sleeping right now? In agony writhing in bed, all due to what happened this morning?

 **HOPE THIS ONE WAS OKAY? THANK YOU SO MUCH.**

 **NEXT CHAPTER, CHRISTIAN WILL FIND A WAY TO RUN INTO ANA AGAIN. LET'S JUST SAY HE HAS BECOME A LITTLE OBSESSED AND CURIOUS BY HER... THANK YOU, AND AGAIN, PLEASE GO EASY ON ME. I DON'T KNOW IF I AM DOING THIS RIGHT AT ALL.**


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